A Sorry Fellow
by Riku Murasaki
Summary: Rory Williams was a sorry fellow, that was sure. His wife's heart, while shared with him, would never truly be his. It would always belong to her Raggedy Doctor... But maybe that wasn't so bad? Eleven/Rory, stated Eleven/Amy, hints of Eleven/Amy/Roy.


Rory Williams was a sorry fellow. His entire life had been an attempt to woo one Amelia Pond, a flame-headed beauty, and his childhood friend. While he eventually won her over, she would never truly be his. Long ago, she had given her heart to the Raggedy Doctor, a man that seemed to be made of nothing but heroism and impossible things.

Eventually, Rory met this "Doctor". Not long after that, he joined Amy in traversing the cosmos with him. He was such a mysterious being, an air of wonderment around him at any given moment. He was charming, dangerous, handsome, and infinitely strange. It was no surprise that Amy would forever be his. The man was more than Rory could hope to contend with, but he took peace in the fact that the Doctor would never steal Amy from him. He had many opportunities, but somehow, Amy always returned to Rory's arms. Still, Rory had begun to see what the girl saw in this traveler from the stars.

On one particular trip into London's history, the trio had been captured by the police on the mistaken belief that the Doctor was an escaped convict. They had argued with interrogators for hours until finally, in a wondrous stream of wordplay, the Doctor had talked the officers into letting the group go, somehow leading them to the location of the real convict in the process.

Rory now sat alone in the TARDIS console room, mulling over that day's events. They had been so… _normal_ when compared to most of their adventures, but somehow, he couldn't help but be amazed by how the Doctor had handled the problems they were faced with. He was just so brilliant, so quick-witted, so… hansom. _That's weird. Wonder where that came from, _pondered Rory, though he dismissed it as nothing more than passing thoughts.

Still, he couldn't help but think back to the trio's everyday happenings on board the Doctor's vessel. Things like the spontaneous chases that involved the Doctor and Rory hunting down Amy so that one could pin her as the other tickled her into a frenzy. Or, there were the pillow fights the Doctor would initiate right there in the console room when he felt things were too quiet, the pillows coming from who-knows-where. _For such a brilliant sod, he has quite the childish streak,_ spoke Rory's inner dialogue._ Then again, when nearly every day you have half the known cosmos trying to kill you for God knows why this time, I suppose you would need a little simplistic fun._ Rory smiled at the situations the Doctor managed to get himself into, deciding that the childish behavior was certainly earned.

Rory's mind wandered to the last pillow fight the Doctor had begun, and how it had progressed. It had started simply enough. Rory and Amy had recently woken from a quick nap, and when they came up to the console room they noticed a plethora of pillows, all in different shapes, sizes, and hues, strewn about the floor. Instantly, they had known the reason, and just as they each bent to grab a weapon, a pillow careened through the air, narrowly missing Amy. In an instant, the onslaught began, fluffy pouches of cotton or goose down flying every which direction, and a flurry of feathers from the occasional broken one floating freely through the room, mixing and mingling with the sounds of hysterical laughter. Rory's memory settled on one particular moment when the three were hiding behind individually built bunkers, tossing spares at each other, and praying for hits. Amy had stood to go for a more direct assault, and the Doctor could be seen peering out from the top of his cushiony fort. While Rory had prepared to jump up and join his woman in her attack, the Doctor had a counter-attack set and ready. Strangely though, upon looking over the top of his fort, he noticed that, while the Doctor was aimed at Amy, he was looking straight into Rory's eyes with the most searing of expressions. His eyes bored into Rory, urging him to attack, daring him to go for it, screaming _come get me_ into his mind. Rory was admittedly a little unsettled by the gaze, and almost missed his chance to attack, but when his Amy leapt from her hidey hole, shouting a war cry with a madman grin blazed across her face, he managed to pull himself together and join her, pillows flailing.

By the time the battle was over, the three lay panting on the TARDIS floor, a thick layer of feathers and fluff coating their surroundings. Amy began making down-angels, and Rory had considered joining her, but settled on watching, a subtle smile gracing his lips. She really was exquisite, and Rory was beyond happy that he could be with her on this ridiculous journey through everything that ever was and would be.

As he let his focus on the ginger woman slip, he noticed that the Doctor, laying on the other side of her, was gazing in her direction as well, but his eyes seemed to be unfocused. His features spelled something that was just on the tip of Rory's conscious, but he was having difficulty placing the emotion. At the time, he had just ignored the Doctor's strange mood, believing it to be nothing more than the Doctor being the Doctor. However, as he continued to contemplate that specific piece of time, he grew more and more curious about it.

_What was that look he was giving? Was it confusion? No, the brows weren't right. Contentedness? Nah, the feel was wrong. Longing? Hm… The far away stare, the tiny frown, the want in his eyes… Shit! That was longing! So he does want Amy. I knew it! _Rory's face churned, taking on an angry, somewhat betrayed quality. _Damn that cheeky bastard. He's already snogged her once, who's to say he wont do it again? I mean, Mr. Suave married Marilyn Munroe after just one night, and God knows Amy's been bonkers for him since before I met her. He could take her from me in a heartbeat! But… then why hasn't he? He could have taken Amy from me at literally place and any time without even trying, and still, he sits there, staring at her like a lost puppy, while she hangs around with me. _Then a realization came to Rory, and suddenly, things made more sense. _But wait. He wasn't just looking at Amy. He was looking past her, through her to the other side… To where I was. He was looking at me, too. He was longing for Amy, yeah, but me, too? I'm not really sure how I feel about this._

He thought over all his travels with the Doctor, and with Amy. He had never really noticed it before, but thinking back, he found that the Doctor gave quite a few side-long glances, and they weren't always for Amy. He thought about the trips they'd taken, the adventures they'd had, and the way he felt on and after them. Being there, exploring the stars with Amy had been both wonderful and terrifying, and it had brought him to love her more than ever, getting to see his courageous redhead at her brightest. Still, they only had these adventures thanks to the Doctor, their intelligent, immature, completely awkward, yet wonderfully fantastic companion. He had begun as an adversary, a competitor for Amy's affection, but had grown to be something so much more. He was a compatriot, a partner, and a friend. They had all grown so close, and the more Rory mulled over his feelings, the more he realized that there was always something more hidden beneath the depths of the trio. It wasn't just Amy's love of the Doctor, and his somewhat obvious, albeit self-rejected return of her emotion. There was something else. Rory felt a yet-unnamed bond with the spaceman. As much as he loved Amy, and she loved him, his time on the TARDIS had brought about a powerful trust for the Doctor. Rory had always believed it to be the type of trust bound to appear when someone regularly saves you from the clutches of certain doom, but now he could tell it was so much more. He wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but he was certainly going to find out.

Rory stood from his seat with a mission in mind. He had to talk to the one person profound enough to help him deal with this kind of emotional conundrum. He quickly left the console room, took a right, another right, a left, and then one more right, and found himself at the door he needed. He rapped lightly on the door, waited a bit for an answer, then knocked a little more heavily when he got none.

"I'm coming, stop knocking!" he heard from the other side, the voice drenched in sleepiness. As the door cracked open, the lanky, bead-headed form of the Doctor could be seen wiping his eyes. "What do want, Amy-" But the Doctor stopped mid-word as he realized the ginger girl was not the one at his door. "Oh, sorry, Rory, usually Amy is the only one who'll knock at my door at this hour… That came out wrong."

Rory chose to ignore the more negative things he could take from that statement, and the question of what exactly "this hour" was in an in-flight time machine. Instead, he decided he would do what he came to do. "Doctor, may I come in? We sort of need to talk."

"If this is about Amy, I-"

"Doctor." The Doctor took the hint, and let Rory through. As the Doctor went and sat on his bed, a massive, over-stuffed affair with a ludicrous amount of pillows and comforters, Rory decided to take a seat in the large wingback near the entrance. However, now that he was here, and the Doctor was listening, Rory was at a loss for where to start.

The Doctor stared expectantly at Rory, his arms in his lap, and a drowsy, yet attentive expression on his face. Had Rory not been lost in thought, he may have actually found it amusing.

Finally, Rory had decided it would be best to simply jump into the problem headfirst, and he would have to start from the beginning.

"Um… Okay, well, you know how Amy fancies you?"

"Rory, we've talked about this-"

"Doctor!" The Doctor complied, closing his mouth, though he still looked miffed by the reopening of an old can of worms. "Thank you. Well… I'm not entirely sure how to say this. We both know that Amy is bonkers for you, and probably always will be. She has so much love to give, but it hurts me to watch her care for someone else."

"Rory…"

"Just wait. Please. I swear I'm getting somewhere with this, and in the end, it has a lot less to do with Amy than I'm making it sound. I just need somewhere to start, and she seemed like the best place, okay?" Rory's expression was a desperate one. Not frustrated with the Doctor's interruptions, but pleading. The Doctor couldn't help but allow the man to finish.

"So it hurts me because I'm jealous. But… lately, I'm starting to wonder who I'm really jealous of. I know that some jealousy lies with you, but I've noticed something relatively new, and it's confusing. On top of that, I've noticed something else, and it has me even more confused. I've… noticed the way you look at me sometimes."

Rory stopped talking. He sat there in the Doctor's gaudy chair, looking to the Gallifreyan with so much confusion in his eyes. He was begging him to help with his expression. The Doctor, when he first heard that Rory had caught his glances, had taken the face of a kid caught sneaking a cookie, but now, he stared back at Rory, deep in thought.

Eventually, the Doctor broke the silence. "Well, which do you want first? My take on your possible new-found feelings, or an explanation for all the wistful gazes I've been giving you? I could say that you had something on your face all those times, or that there was a bug on your shoulder, but that wouldn't do, now would it? I guess I could tell you the truth, but I'm not sure you'd like the truth… Would you want the truth?" Rory nodded. "Okay then… I suppose I fancy you. I try not to fancy humans, but it seems every time I get a new traveling companion, she- or in this case, he- weasels her/his way into my head. It's quite frustrating, actually. Why do you all have to be so… so… fascinating?"

Rory took some time to process this information. He wasn't sure how to respond. He was confused enough about his own feelings, and while he had already assumed the Doctor fostered a liking for him, he didn't know what to do now that his presumptions had been confirmed.

"…Rory?"

"Yes, sorry. It's just-" Then an idea struck him. A way to end the confusion, and know once and for all how he felt. "I'm… I'm sorry, but I think I have a method for figuring all this out. But you may not like it."

It didn't take long for the Doctor to catch on. "Rory, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Standing, Rory took a step toward the Doctor. He was nervous of his own plan. His footing was confident, but something in his eyes betrayed him. Still, he defended his idea. "And why not? If anything, you owe it to me. Amy got to try it."

"I hardly think her attacking my lips without my consent should count." Rory sent him a look that showed he wasn't having any arguments. "…Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm not sure, but that's why I have to try. I have to know."

"And what happens if you feel nothing? You don't honestly believe things could return to the way they've been, do you?"

"No. But it's a risk I'll have to take." Rory took another step toward the Doctor, stance beginning to show his unsteady nerves.

"Alright. But if this goes wrong, we don't tell Amy. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

The Doctor rose from the foot of his bed, his eyes tired, and full of worry. He walked forward a few paces, until finally, he and Rory stood only inches apart. They looked to each other, awkwardly glancing from the other's eyes to his mouth, to their own shoes, to his eyes again. Eventually, the Doctor grew impatient, and, muttering an "oh, fine then. _I'll _do it," closed the short distance between their faces.

In the beginning, Rory was tense. He locked up, taken by surprise. However, after a moment, he found himself relaxing.

When the Doctor pulled away, looking into Rory's eyes for any sign of emotion, positive or negative, he was greeted with a blank slate. Worried, the Doctor tentatively dropped a "Rory?", but was cut off when the other man reconnected their lips, and reached a hand up to caress the back of the Doctor's neck.

Rory had most certainly felt it; a beautiful, disastrous spark. It was the same thing he felt when he kissed Amy, but somehow different, more dangerous. It was no wonder Amy was in love with the Doctor. The man was intoxicating. His mere presence was like a rogue dark matter comet crashing into a quasar: intensely, destructively beautiful, and the only possible result a singularity, meaning the gravity of it all was inescapable. His lips were intoxicating, and his body infinitely warm. Soon, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, and a tongue trying to part his mouth. He gladly granted the foreigner entrance, and his world nearly dissolved in the moment.

This went on for quite some time, mouths exploring one another's lips, tongues, and necks, and they soon found themselves lying on the Doctors bed, grasping desperately at each other, relishing the closeness. However, even through the haze of passion, a tiny voice of concern managed to sneak its way into Rory's brain. He tried in vain for at least what he assumed to be about five minutes, but his conscience wouldn't drop the subject. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from the Doctor's mouth, still feeling the heat on his lips, and smiled sheepishly to the outlandish man in his arms. "I think we should probably stop. Wouldn't want to upset Amy."

"Oh… Yes," the Doctor replied. After a beat, he added, "she'll probably be upset enough that you got to put your hand up my shirt, and all she managed was a one-sided, half-second snog."

"What do you mean? I didn't-" but he stopped as he glanced down to notice his hand was indeed resting beneath the Doctor's nightshirt. "When did that happen?"

"Probably about the time I left that mark on your neck," the Doctor grinned sheepishly.

"You didn't…"

"I'm afraid I did."

Sure enough, upon feeling around his neck, Rory found a tender spot. "Oh yes. She's going to have a fit." He looked to the other man, who seemed to be contemplating the situation. "How bad is it?" Rory already had an idea as he asked simply from how sensitive the spot on his neck was now.

"Um… It's quite obvious. About the color of a Japanese maple. Actually, it looks a little like your neck was mauled by a rabid beast."

"Not just a randy Gallifreyan?"

"Oh, _har har." _Through his sarcasm, though, the doctor could be seen blushing like a grade-schooler. "Anyhow, considering this development, I'm going to assume you've decided you do indeed harbor some sort of feelings for me. We know Amy does, and by this point, I suppose it's obvious I return those emotions. I normally make it a point not to be romantically involved with my traveling companions, as it usually results in nothing but trouble." Rory looked almost stricken, but the Doctor continued. "However, under the circumstances… It's been far too long since I've allowed myself to let go. I believe it's time I make an exception."

Rory looked less betrayed, even relieved, but still a little worried. "While I'm ecstatic, this doesn't change the fact that Amy's going to go ballistic when she sees this mark."

The Doctor simply thought for a bit. Eventually, the corners of his mouth upturned into a devious smirk. "I believe I may have a solution that, if successful, will solve that dilemma."

"Go on…"

"Well, it involves us, a planet with beaches of amethyst sand, and a slightly different, slightly less clothed take on our usual game of 'Pounce Pond'…"


End file.
